They Swim Beneath the Seas
by Isedy
Summary: He found her as she fell. As she stepped into the void of the abyss, and a smile flickered over her face, gray eyes beaming. And as she took the step, he lurched forward, and his hands grasped onto nothing.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.

Status: Incomplete

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The earth was quiet that morning. The sun had not come out, staining the clouds a dizzying pearl-gray. She knew it would soon; the flickering dapples of sunshine playing a melody over the earth. The sun always came out. She had learnt that well in her time on the dry land.

That the sun came out, pushing away the rain and the water, and the plants would bend to it, stretching towards the sky in an ancient, loving caress.

She had learned many things here, in her time on the dry land. That they sky, and the earth were in constant motion; each trying to reach the other, endlessly, forever. A dance as old as the tides on the shores.

She missed it, that feeling; the sea, trying to reach its children chained to the earth, shackled by their pelts. The feeling of something ancient enveloping you in a dance as old as time. Like you were something more, something bigger, a _part_.

She was silent as she wandered through the trees. Her hands shook, and her breath was paralyzingly slow, eyes fluttering. She was weak. Utterly, totally weak without the sea. Even now, it called to her, and the rhythms of the earth mimicked those of the sea, and she yearned for something that was so close, and yet so terribly, horribly far.

_It_ had told her that this forest was dangerous. That people did not come here unless they knew the path they walked on, and the dangers that could—would—swallow them whole. It had told her to stay away, and yet, this was the only place she knew as sanctuary.

It had been far too terrified to ever step foot onto this land.

The trees were quiet this morning, too. There were no chattering birds, no chirping insects, no fluttering wings that seemed to hardly beat as they passed by. The flowers, under the dappled weak sun, seemed tentative, careful, watching as she wandered, lost, confused, and searching.

She wondered, vaguely, if the silence was for her. Perhaps the creatures could feel her, remember her true nature, one not tied to this rough skin, and had tried to give it back, however they could. Like they knew why her legs were trembling and her breaths were short, and she could not keep up with the body that supported her.

Her head was dizzy as the smile creased on her face, and she tried to keep it, to show she was grateful for this silence, but it felt wrong, painful, like every other time.

Her teeth hurt. Her tongue was dry. Every swallow was a horrific endeavor.

She was cold now, and shivering, and her pale white skin pimpled in a way she remembered having to get used to. The water was always so warm, and she was always so cocooned in that layer of fat and blubber and familiarity, the rush of the currents brushing over her sleek dark skin. It was cold on the dry land, cold and wet, but not in a way she remembered having loved.

The sea was her creator, mother, and she missed it. Missed it so much that it dragged her back to its shores, and no matter how many times she waded into the water, the waves desperately clinging to her, she could not be dragged back.

The tide would leave her, and the waves would hiss, and she would cry.

Cry for a memory she could not keep, a time that could not be recovered. A time of wanderlust and play and deep crags that stretched for years into the core of the earth. A time of darkness and light, a time where the sun could not reach her as she swam, deep, deep, long forgotten.

Where only the currents of the sea kept her company, and the sound of stillness surrounded her; safe, dark, and warm.

The earth had changed now. She had seen it in the seas, before he'd taken her. She saw it now in the trees and the nature. The winding, black roads the ripped through the country, tore through everything that was before. The mountains that had toppled, reformed through weather and change and everything that used to be.

The humans had taken it, the gift of nature, of the spirits and the gods and everything lay in between, and molded it, carefully, cautiously, and it was too late when the rest of them remembered to notice.

She had seen so many alien things on this land, things she had wept about, been terrorized with and _it _had only laughed at her fear, her horror.

Now the sea was too warm again, and the ice melted too quick, and the waste was choking flippers and fins and drowning them where they were supposed to be free to roam. The trees no longer grew strong and tall, haphazardly, instead in neat printed rows with a clear exit, their branches lilting painfully. The plants crowded for air, and yet the fumes choked them, and the earth swallowed them, and nothing grew how it was supposed to. The sun beat down hard, harder than before, and it scorched her delicate skin and left rashes and burns where none had previously been.

It had found her because of the changes. Changes that had not been seen for many a millennium. Curiosity had always been her cardinal sin, and she'd swam carefully to the surface, the air still new on her skin, the feeling was like coming out of a dream.

The air was harsh, and for the first time she felt the coat of salt on her skin, crusting on her eyes and mouth. The sun had beat down on her mercilessly, and her eyes were squinting, trying to find a point of resemblance on the craggy moor.

Everything was gone again, and she was whirling with curiosity, buzzing with incredulity.

She remembered gripping her skin, the coat slipping off her, the blood underneath her fingernails, ripping through what had melded into skin and bone and flesh. She had screamed, the pain rippling down her back, and the hands that had torn her coat off her, and the terror that set in.

For years, it kept her. Kept her close and safe, and near, and no matter how much she searched for her pelt, she could not find it. The silkiness of her skin haunted her. Hands trembling every time she thought she brushed over it. It caught her every time. Its skin was cold and icy, and she missed her home in the waves, in her skin, but it would not let her go.

It liked the way she would sing, low, croaky, desperate; human voices could not capture the way she yipped and growled and barked at the sea, but it could. Liked how her eyes would round and her mouth drop whenever she saw the sea. How she wandered to her mother, lost and mewling, the waves reaching her waist, and sob as it would not, could not, take her back.

Its red eyes followed her to the ends of the earth, and no matter how many times she begged, pleaded, cried for her coat, it would not give it. It laughed, and the sound felt like poison as it crept down her throat, until she thought she would bleed black and not red, until she thought her insides were rotting, like the fish carcasses on the sandy bays it took her to.

She could not recognize anything anymore, did not know the place in which she inhabited, and she hated it for making her reliant, for having no true way of understanding this new, harsh world.

Its fingers would caress her back, taking in the translucent skin, still not used to the sun, never a skin that would never be used to the sun, thumbing the blue veins that stood out on her back, her cheek, her thigh. It liked her shimmery, strewn hair; it said the locks reminded him of pale, glimmering starlight; unreachable, and yet, with her, the sky stood within its grasp.

She hated it most when it ran its teeth over her neck. How it moaned when she shivered as it held her. Its hands were always so cold. So hard to break. Her skin bruised and broke underneath its touch and her blood would slip down her arms, pearls of beaded red slick, smelling of iron and fear.

But it was over now, for it could not reach her here not anymore.

She had smelled the change as soon as she stepped into the forest. The smell of dog and wet, and heat. How when they'd passed the rolling planes of green, it recoiled, rage filling red eyes, and its lip curled, and she began to plan.

A month, she'd planned. Watched It as it moved. As it avoided the Other Ones that looked at it strange, sniffing a little too hard when it came close; how their eyes would dilate, and it would move away, a snarl fixing on it lips.

It didn't like when others smelled her. To it, she knew she smelled of the sea, and quiet desperation, but her blood—the blood of her kind—sang to it. Allured all those who came, who tried to drink from her pearly skin. To them, she smelled of sweetness and secrets and everything that could and could not be.

It kept her close. In doing so, it made its fatal mistake. They'd torn down the door and the Other Ones had come in, and it had bellowed in rage and anger and terror as it watched her throw herself through the window, glass breaking through her skin.

She didn't quite remember how to run. It had not let her move, rather it had arranged her limbs and held her if it could. Her legs were wobbly, stumbling, and her heart beat in her throat, a beat of heady, hot desperation. The blood matted in her pale hair. There was a slice of glass next to her eye, but she dared not take it out. It was too deep, and while it stung, she could not bring herself to let her bleed even more.

It always found her when she bled.

She'd sat in the forest for a while, hugging her knees to her chest, the sobs wracking her body as she shuddered. She hoped they killed it. She hoped the Others had ripped its body apart, and set those cold, cold hands on fire, for no matter how many times she'd raised the match, it would never light.

The water was too much within her, and she could create fire no matter how many times she pleaded to the sea.

The day had passed slowly. The early morning sun had crept behind the sky, and she felt some splotches of its rays shine down on her. It lit her skin, made her look like shining marble amid all the green. As it warmed her to her core, she touched it, her fingers trembling as she felt the beat of her heart underneath her touch, the way her blood rushed in her veins, how her skin was warm, instead of the cool, sleek she remembered and yearned for. He liked to tell her she looked like an angel, dressed in white, her white-gold hair falling in waves around her pale, pale shoulders, her dark gray eyes large in her face.

She thought she looked already dead; fading away before anyone could notice her.

She did not know how long she wandered; only that her legs were shaking, her hands were trembling, and her mind was frantic, dizzy when she made it to the cliff. It was there that she felt that familiar lull. The feeling of warmth and home and hope.

Her eyes were wide in shock. The breath was punched from her lungs. There was a moment when she thought she was dreaming; it twinkled and rushed and shone, and she stared and stared and stared.

Her home. The sea.

The loud, gasping sob had torn itself from her mouth before she could stop it. Her shoulders shook, and she raised her pale hands to clutch at her hair. She wanted to scream. To yell. To cry. To dance for joy at the sight of her home, and yet sob in horror at the fact that she could not join the rhythm of the tides.

Her skin was empty without the pelt. She was naked, like the day she'd been born, so very long, long ago. She was shivering and crying and sobbing, and she felt so terribly wretched; right at the ledge of her home, with the clothes it had dressed her in ripped and torn, eyes desolate as she watched on to what she could not partake.

She thought she heard something move, but she could not tear her eyes from the dark, glittering waters. The call was strong, too strong to look away from. It was in the shimmering warmth of the waves, the lull and fall of the water on itself, the hiss of the tide as it spread itself thin onto land.

She did not see the people. The terror in their faces as she inched closer, closer. She did not even give them nary a thought. She was caught in the spell of her home, unable, un-wanting, to give the feeling of home away.

She was shaking as she took the step.

Their cries did not reach her ears as she stared.

The thoughts in her head were mumbled, broken, flitting to and fro like the few birds she'd seen. She would be one again, she knew, even if the sea did not take her like this; broken, deformed, tortured to a former shadow of herself. She only needed to touch her home again, to feel the water soak into her skin, the weightless, beauty of it all to wrap around her.

She just wanted, needed, to feel it again.

Things were moving behind her; rustling and hurried grunts caused the trees to move and shake and thunder at their presences.

And she beamed, almost cheerful, eyes still caught onto the waves as the sea pulled her down, down, down—

Grasping fingers caught her by the shoulder, but they were too late, and she only twisted to catch their eyes.

Green. She smiled, like the sea.

Her body hit the rocks and a wretched, horrific scream echoed behind her.

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Enjoy.

Wasn't sure if I wanted to do a Twilight fic but I said what the hell and decided anyways.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.

Status: Incomplete

* * *

She was dizzy. Dizzy and delirious, a terrible, stretching smile on her face as she soaked in the touch of the waves on her skin, the repetitious lapping of the water over her fingers, face, shoulders. She felt love, deep and true, spread through her as she lay, half-submerged in the ocean, the rest of her body splayed over a rock.

She couldn't move much of anything, only the twitching in her fingers let her know she was alive, but for a glorious, tenuous moment, she was at peace; the water was around, the sounds of the sea were near, and her mind was shuttering, eyes closing in the face of the glare of the peeking sun.

Cold was spreading through her, numb and steady, her mouth tiring from catching no breaths; she didn't care. The sea cradled her legs, her waist, and reached towards her, trying to drag her down into its depths.

She waited, breathlessly, expectant.

Her eyes closed, catching the last rays of sunshine before the dark.

_Mother, _she wanted to crow, to sing, as the sea edged closer, _I'm home._

Then warmth hit.

Frantic, terrified eyes stood out before her. The sun outlined the boy's face, dark hair, and naked body. His lips were pressed together tightly, horror making them blanch.

His hands were cupping her face, and she could feel the rough, worked callouses on them.

She nearly smiled indulgently; he didn't understand, would never understand.

She was _free_ now. The water was her home. He could not take her from it, not now when her spine was sliced open, her head was making her vision blur and there was no breath entering her lungs.

There would be no going back to the dry, alien land.

"No," he whispered, and suddenly, it was like he was trembling, shaking, breaking, as he looked down on her fractured, crippled body. "No, no, no—_it's not_—it's not supposed to be like this—"

She could barely follow the rest, her mind still too dizzy, her joy still too rampant.

She was safe now, safe in the waves.

His hands were still cupping her face when she closed her eyes.

"No! _NO!"_ He screamed, hysterical, half between a sob and a terrified bellow. "Don't you close your eyes don't you—wake _up!"_

He shook her, back and forth, and her head lolled over her shoulders, unable to keep steady. She gurgled on something warm rising in her throat, and he his grip slackened, horror lighting his face even further at the sight of blood coating her lips.

She was tired now. He had to let her go. He had to let her _go._ The waves would take her, her mother would wrap her in sweet, sweet warmth. She would be fine. She would be safe; the water was where she belonged.

Her gaze was fluttering as she attempted to speak. "Please…"

He let out a sob. His grip tightened so much her ribs _creaked_.

Her voice was hoarse as she bit out the next words. Broken from the screams _it_ had made her utter. "Let…me…go."

"No, no, I'm not—" his tears were falling over her, his hands clutching her shoulders now, as if he himself could her broken body together with the force of his will alone. "Never, _never_—_please_—Spirits, God, _someone_—_please—"_

She coughed, blood staining her lips. The water lapped around her, and she felt as close to home as she knew she would get. She did not think he would let her go. Didn't think he would let her have this decency.

He shook her again, and she closed her eyes.

"Your name…if you're…if…please…" he spoke slowly, but no less desperately. His dark eyes were wide, pleading. "What's your name?"

She wanted to be left in peace. Wanted to fade away peacefully, with a quiet dignity only nature could give her. The dignity her mother would allow her to have, surrounded by the dark waves and currents of her home.

"_Please."_ His voice was ragged, fingers digging into her skin. Harsh, broken whines tore into her heart, and she wondered why his grief was so potent, so horrifically desperate. She had never had anyone so frightened to lose her. He was warm. His grip infinitely softer than _it._ "Tell me…I'm begging you…what's your name?"

She felt his body shake, tears clawing in his throat, and she wondered why he cared about her so much. She would die, and then be swallowed by the sea. Her mother, with the salty waves and the ocean currents that would wrap her in warmth and water, would storm and rage at her death. Her mother who would avenge her.

She felt his hands grab her face again. His fingers were roving, splayed out, the warmth seeping straight into her soul. Her eyes fluttered open, if only for a second.

In his gaze she saw it. The pain, echoing, deep, breaking something within him. Something cracked within her chest, and she wondered vaguely at the feeling—like she'd known him, like she'd been waiting for him her whole life. Like he had a little bit of something that had been _hers_ all along.

For all the years she'd traversed through time and sea and space, she'd never felt anything like that split second of a moment of feeling that lanced through her.

Her arms trembled as she raised her hand to clutch at his. She brushed the back of his palm, and he wheezed out a sob. The shattered, fractured whine in his voice made her heart clench. She felt his tears fall over her cheeks, her mouth, her brow. They were warm as they slipped down her face.

Her vision was edging, breaking up into little spots, but she didn't let go of his gaze; she looked at him, searching. His eyes were so very green, so very warm on hers.

In hindsight, they were the colour of the grass, the earth, the forest.

She smiled almost sadly.

_Nothing like the sea. _

When she spoke, it was a croak. "He…called me Evelyn."

Her name was religious when it fell from his lips. "_Evelyn."_

And all she remembered was black, and the feelings of the rocks in her back, and the tide on her skin.

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Shorter, sweeter. Enjoy.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.

Status: Incomplete

* * *

She had drowned only once in her life.

The feeling of the cold, lapping water on her skin had made her break out in bumps. The hair on her neck had risen, and her shoulders trembled as they'd made her walk into the ocean. She remembered the way the hem of her peplos wetting, making her slow and sluggish as the sea had pulled her in, the metal lining her hair weighing her down. The brooch that had kept her garb had loosened, and the fabric that clothed her was too loose; the restriction had brought the panic, and the panic had brought fierce, raging ferocity.

_Rage _at the way they'd made her choose.

She remembered the way she had fought. How the pebbles had been just in her grasp. The way the cold shock of the waves washed over her, powerful, serene, as if only a bystander to her agony, her death.

The cold, black water had choked her, and the panic that had filled her made her lungs reach for air that no longer stood within her grasp. The sea would not let her go. It grabbed her, pulled her in deep, and her head had gone dizzy, before she convulsed, and the world had gone dark. There lay no room for sanity; only deep, unadulterated rage, panic and a calm understanding that had filled her to the brim.

The silence, the calm before the storm were the last moments of her life.

But the sea had taken pity on her, had breathed new life through her lips, and where there was once skin, there lay sleek, smooth fins and flippers that propelled her forward, away from the shores of her home, away from the family that called from that land.

She didn't remember much of the years that followed.

The centuries were short to her, and she was more animal, more _creature_, than human. She no longer remembered her name, her earthly face; there was only the cold, endless sea, and the flashes of others like her—each swimming to their own twist of their flippers. Their faces were blurred now, and she could hardly remember those that she had met. The time on the dry land had taken much, and _it _had taken even more.

She only remembered the important things now. That the sea was cold and sleek and inviting. That she had risen and fallen within its depths and shallows, and slid, fluidly along, like the tides and endless currents; that nothing, no one could touch her; they couldn't ever kill her again, not like _that._

Waking up did not feel like that.

She was hot, feverish; she hardly remembered the last time she'd been warm on the dry land. _It_ kept her cold, shivering, just enough to feel pain, just enough for her lips to turn blue with pain. The thing liked to see her suffer, liked to see her ache and agonize.

Her eyes hurt. They pounded, thrumming hot and heavy. She could feel the crust keeping them closed, and she let out a soft whine at the pain that ripped through her head. The beat was familiar. _It_ had hurt her more than once. Enough for her to be familiar with the pain a mortal body brought once more. Enough for her to understand just how close to death she had come.

But she could not regret it.

For that one, terrible moment…she'd been so very close to her home.

She coughed; the weight of the stuff in her chest rose with the movements, and she gagged, foul, horrid bile filling her throat, and for a moment, she thought she would drown once more, that the feeling of weightless, silent fear would consume her death again.

She remembered it so fiercely, that her breaths were coming in short, and the panic was making her reel in shock and—

—And then, there was a rush of wind and a rough hand was turning her over, enough so that she could let out the vile things inside her.

"Easy," the voice was familiar, and she tried to place it. The hand was splayed over her back, trembling. "Easy now."

She wanted to speak, to move, but the only sounds she could make were garbled, broken; a melee of nonsense. It was as if she were a new-one again, when the sounds of her kind were unknown, and the human languages had not shed her tongue. Fashioned from folkways and lives long passed, long mourned. Her mind did not, _could not_ fit itself to the speech, and nor did the understanding she tried to shape as an answer to those spoken utterances.

The hand shook. There was hot breath on the back of her neck, and she shivered at the dawning realization of her vulnerability. "You're okay now, you're alright."

Whatever stood behind her could kill her now. Could rip her open and tear at the life she had left, like _it_ had. The memories were less blurry now, and she remembered the eons of terror it had scared into her, the utter all-encompassing _fear_ that had driven her to insanity.

She swallowed, tried to open her eyes, and moaned at the pain.

"No, _don't_…they said not to open your eyes yet..." The voice was shaking, something like fear cracking through the impenetrable veneer of calm. "Please, listen okay?"

She stiffened. It was frustrating, how she couldn't quite understand this tongue. Human language had not graced her ears for centuries and this language was hard, and the lulling, rumbling, groaning noises of her kind had stripped her of any knowledge of the human tongues. Her own, what she remembered of it, was different than this grating sound; a lulling sound of rushing, churning earth and not this sharp bleakness, spoken with tender affection.

It baffled her, deep and truly.

Her village had not spoken like this. The warriors at the wall had not either, despite the differences in their ways. But their language had always been smooth, lyrical; like the lies they spouted just as easily. And this was new. Even _It_ had not spoken like this to her. _It_ had spoken to her in the language of her village, old, rushing and terrifying. That _It _had been of her time, of her century, and to have lived long enough to hunt her down.

Part of her, the old, superstitious girl that rose her head every now and then, remembered the lore of the fairies, and the druids that had kept them at bay, and she had to wonder if they'd been the ones to spirit her away from the waters of her home.

But.

She remembered the boy-man. The young-one with the worried lips. The one with the green, forest eyes and desperation flowing through his touch. She remembered his pleas, his begs and sobs, and a part of her, the kind that had traversed the waves for too long, too deep, recognized the feeling of touch on her delicate spine, the fingers glancing over the ridges of her back and told her to _trust._

So, with the feeble, tenuous grasp on thought she had left, she let the warmth overwhelm her, let the world rush around her, let the hands move her gently on her back again, and fell asleep to the sound of harsh breaths and hot soothing hands.

….

Embry had not sat down since he'd found her.

His hands were still shaking. His mouth was wobbling, and his face was stricken, so pale that Sam had made a sharp noise of concern. Jacob had tried to calm him, his eyes wide in shock, his own lips tight and pale, but it was in vain. His mind was spinning so fast, so beyond his control that Embry could not even process the thought of what just happened. The idea that she had…that it would have _never_ happened if he hadn't…

He closed his eyes tight, the lump in his throat growing bigger.

She had only just fallen asleep in his arms, only just let soft, careful breaths slip through her lips, and he still felt close to that ledge, just as he'd caught her gaze.

He wasn't supposed to find her—his imprint—this way. As she hurled herself from a cliff, joy rampant in her face as she ended her life. It was supposed to be different. It was supposed to be _different._

He wheezed, his hand coming to his chest, as he tried to keep in a rising sob. Embry remembered the exact moment her eyes met with his. The roaring, desperate relief and then the fear. The agonizing, desperate, terrible, terrible fear and the passing hatred and the grief. He had tried to catch her, had lunged off right after her his fingers just barely grazing her shoulder and he'd have succeeded were it not for Paul, who thought him the fool, and grabbed him by the shoulders.

Paul who hadn't spoken to him again, head down in shame.

Embry couldn't help but think of her on those rocks again. She was small, so very, very small as she lay, cradled by the sea and reef. Her head was bloody, and the red had seeped in with her strands of pale, pale hair, enough to make it look pink in the light of the cloudy sun.

Bloodied and delirious—he'd never forget, never, never, never_never_—and suddenly _his._

It was her eyes that stood out for him.

Her deep, inviting gray eyes. They had no pupil, and the iris was blown, far too large and round and glossy for what Embry knew as normal. They shone, reflected, and he knew, _knew_ that wasn't normal, that wasn't how human eyes were supposed to be, but he couldn't help it, couldn't help but think they were beautiful anyways, despite the strangeness, despite the _bizarreness_ of it all.

He had looked deep into her eyes as he'd begged for her to live. It almost felt like the sea was anchoring him to the rock, not letting him move to save her. Her eyes had been skittering, lost, and that had been the only detail he'd noticed before Sam reached him and they'd scrambled, rushing, hightailing it to the Doc's house.

He had not seen her skin; spotted, splotches of brown intermingling with lily-white. He had not seen her teeth; sharp, needling points of bright, bright white, ready to tear.

He had not even seen the way Cullen's eyes had gone black in fierce hunger, how his hands had trembled, as he begged the vampire to save him.

Embry had not—she was _dying,dying,dying _and that was all that mattered to him—but Leah had.

* * *

Enjoy,

comments are love,

Isedy.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own twilight.

Status: Incomplete

A/N: Un-betaed and un-edited; sorry for any mistakes in advance.

* * *

Esme had heard about them before, when she was younger. More naïve. Full of hope and fluttering possibility. Her childish curiosity had been crippling, and now, as she was faced with the not-woman who lay on her husband's surgery table, feverish and moaning, she couldn't help but remember all the things she'd been told about them.

The peoples of the sea, her fisherman uncle called them. The ones that drew no breath from their mouths, and moved liked shadows on the coasts, unseen. Her father had told her not to listen to Old Uncle Ben, because he wasn't quite right in his head. That Uncle Ben could love nothing, and no one, but the sea; it called to him, sang and serenaded him, strongly, too strongly; her father had warned her with a bitter mouth and dark eyes full of hushed memories.

But Esme loved him, the uncle who was full to the brim with stories and wonders and whisperings of things that dallied in the darkness, and sang pretty, pretty songs, fairy blood in them strong. And so, Esme listened; _näkki, _her Uncle called them, after the stories his mother had told him. The women, children, _people_ who swam beneath the waves, long forgotten, distant legends, ones that never truly rose to the surface.

She knew little of them except what he told her of; long, waving hair, streaming over slender, built shoulders. Skin that could be shed in an instant and donned the next. Thunderous eyes, so feral in their nature, and yet piercingly human, when the eye caught. Some had bright, blooming colors tattooed onto their skin; patterns so intricate it would take years to map them out. Others were merely echoing slivers of color disappearing into murky waters, far too quick for those who did not look.

When she saw the not-woman, she knew.

She was thin, this one. Less built than the ones her Uncle had told her about. Esme thought she would feel her ribs if she traced her skin. Her face was gaunt, eyes sunken, the fever making her brow sweat, mouth panting, her forehead crinkling in pain. She was pale, far paler than any human she'd ever seen. Skin like alabaster, blue-green veins stretching underneath like a treasure map. And yet, she sported the signs of the sea; the splotches of milky brown over her nose, spreading from the corner of one cheek to the base of an eye, and then over her neck and chin and lips. Her hair was even paler, white-gold so fine Esme couldn't have seen it without her vampire senses. It was matted, though, pink with blood and sweat and tears and like her skin, the influence of the sea was strong; it was long and straggly and ever so tangled over her delicate shoulders.

She had suffered, this not-woman, this sea-person. She had suffered a great, great deal to be caught like this—vulnerable, sick, weak, begging for release.

Her Uncle had told her stories of women brought to shore, kicking and screaming and bellowing for the waves, mutiny rioting in their faces, words incomprehensible, their grips as strong as the thrashing sea. He had told her of women whose teeth were as sharp as knives, their beauty as dangerous as a dagger. Women who could lure in men, children, women into helping them until they were so addled by their faces and eyes and voices that all they could do was nod, and stare, and nod again, until they were delivered to the waves again, and all they caught was the sight of their tails disappearing below the surface once more.

This one was beautiful like that too. Ethereal, other-worldly, _dangerous._ It wasn't quite so obvious with the sickness and the pain and agony the sea-woman was undergoing, but Esme could tell. The bones of her face were dainty, pretty and delicate. Her nose was small and upturned. Her eyes were almond in shape, and when opened, they made her out to be ever-smiling. Her lips were bloodless now, but the shape of her cupid's bow was defined, almost etched into her face. It was a cold, arctic sort of beauty. An alien one, that made people want to reach out and touch, to see if it was real, if that sort of grace could even exist.

And Esme wanted to touch. Oh, how she _wanted_ to touch this not-woman, this sea-person. The fascination that brewed inside of her was persistent. Never had she felt anything like this gripping, crushing obsessiveness that overwhelmed her at this moment. She _needed_ to touch this sea-woman. Needed to know what that skin felt like underneath her fingertips, to see how the blood of the sea would thrum under her touch and sing with a song no one else could hear.

She was closer now, infinitely closer than before. She'd tried to stop it, tried to grip the doorway to stop her entrance, but Esme was at the bed now, dazed and addled and all she could think about was the way the not-woman's chest rose, her fevered moans filled the air, and the delicious, mouth-watering smell of blood drenched her senses.

Esme's hands shook as she raised them, and when they graced the bridge of the sea-woman's nose, soft, soft skin rushing into her touch, she let out a short, quiet gasp—

A scream left her throat as she was slammed against the wall, and all that filled her vision were dark, dark murderous eyes, and a terrifying snarl curling around white teeth.

"And just what the fuck do you think you're doing, vampire?"

Leah Clearwater's grip was strong on her shoulders, crushing her collarbone, and Esme could only blink in reply.

…

Leah had seen many imprints happen.

The elders had said it was rare, and after Emily, after Sam and that whole mess, it seemed that it honestly was. It was like finding a needle in a haystack, the odds piling ever in their favor. Except that after Sam, it was Jared. And after Jared, it was Paul. And then, Brady. And Collin.

And now…now it was Embry.

They had said it was rare, rarer than finding gold in a stream, or finding a four-leaf clover, but Leah had seen every single one happen. And every single time it was the same. She had seen it again in Embry's eyes, had been in Embry's _mind_ the moment the realization clicked, the second the rest of the world fled from underneath his feet. The instant when their eyes met, Embry was hooked, and everything _clicked_, like it was all sliding into place for him now. Like he'd met his destiny, and everything would be like every other time before him.

Except that this time, the girl was dying.

And Leah hadn't ever experienced the agony that had surged through Embry the moment he realized his imprint had fallen over the ledge, and was falling, falling, falling to her death.

She'd had her fair share of pain, of misery and dark thoughts. Sam's influence on her was strong, still, to the point where she would have loved to burn him from her mind, expunge all that had been from her memory to stop the weakness in her hurt. But it was _nothing_ like the avalanche of fear, terror and horror that had flooded her pack-mate at the sight of his imprint dying. The unregulated panic had made her protective, so much so, that she lurked at the door of the Cullen's personal medical room, ears pricked, searching for any movement that could hurt the woman.

It took him nearly four hours to be pried from the room, but Embry was finally being calmed by Sam. He always sent her away, dismissed her, when another one of them imprinted. They thought she was _bitter._ Angry, betrayed. And while it was true that the pulsing pain of the wound Emily and Sam had caused was ever tender, they didn't understand. Leah was the only woman of the pack, the only she-wolf, and therefore the female Alpha.

It had surprised her deeply, disturbed her even more, when she realized that she would maul every single one of her pack-mates' imprints if they ever dared to harm them. They mistook that for rage, and anger and bitterness, but Leah knew better. She cared about them, loved them even more, but they never listened to her senses, the ones that _howled_ about pack and responsibility and fierce, fierce, determined loyalty.

She would never hurt them by harming their imprints, but she would also _never_ let them come to harm by way of their imprints either.

And so when Embry had rushed his imprint to the Cullens' doorstep, not even stopping to don clothes, Leah had catalogued every single thing she could about the woman; the strange glossy eyes, the thick, undefinable words that had escaped her mouth, a language that didn't match to any Leah knew, how she didn't look _quite_ human, not the way they did, but not like the vampires either. No, this imprint, Embry's mate was _different._

She knew the Cullens knew that too. The way Carlisle's eyes had darkened, and how he had swayed for a moment, mouth open, as if basking in a scent so delicious it made him woozy had told Leah everything she needed to know. The wolves were desperate now, and so they scrambled for things that they considered allies in the Supernatural world, but Leah was cautious, tentative in her nature and she'd _never_ trusted them, no matter how many times Seth had crowed about their kindness, and Jacob had glowered at her for scaring Nessie.

They were vampires, after all, and vampires, no matter how they masked it and hid it away, _ate people._

And Embry's mate, while not _quite_ human, was still _people._

So, when she found Esme Cullen standing over the bed, hands tracing the woman's face, a strange, wonderous expression on her face, Leah had lost it.

The snarl that had escaped her throat was deep and threatening, and she'd rushed in before she even thought about it. The panic that filled her at the thought of Embry being harmed made the protective instincts rise and crush any other feelings of caution. Her hands dwarfed the vampire's petite stature, and she gripped so hard she heard a part of the vampire's bone creak.

Esme's eyes met hers, and the dazed, woozy expression was still there, thick shock not letting anything else penetrate her mind.

The _thing,_ Leah thought disgusted, had been so entranced it couldn't even tell she was coming.

"And just what the fuck do you think you're doing, vampire?" Leah hissed, looming over the undead woman.

Her grip tightened on the vampire when it didn't answer.

Leah thought about crushing her, destroying her until all she remained was pretty, twinkling shards of porcelain, to be lit into a pyre. It was only the threat of Jacob and Sam's wrath that kept her in check. The treaty was secure, the most secure it had been since it had been founded, all those centuries ago, and _she_ would not be the one to break it.

Esme blinked, twice, as if she was coming out of a daydream instead of being pinned to a wall by a snarling, protective shape-shifter. "I just…" her voice was shaking, something like lust threading through her words. "…by the gods she's beautiful…I never thought they would be so beautiful…Ben never hinted they'd be like that…"

Leah stared at the thing, confusion, hatred and protectiveness warring inside her.

Something was wrong with it. Something had unsettled Esme Cullen's perfect nature so deeply that she would go to touch a complete stranger, without any regard for her veneer of humanity.

She was still babbling, apparently unconsciously, "…I never thought I'd see one of them…they're so hard to catch sight of, the näkki…deadly, deadly creatures…so strong…so terribly, terribly strong…"

"What are you saying," Leah growled, viciousness making her feral. If she failed in protecting this woman, Embry would be hurt, and Leah would rather _die_ than let her pack-mate hurt because of her.

Then the full train of realization hit her in full force. Leah's fingers loosened, only slightly. She eyed the thing, suspicion making her tentative of asking it questions.

"You know what she is."

Esme hedged, not giving her an answer. Her eyes were still riveted on the woman on the surgical table, and Leah shook her to get her to look away.

"Tell me." Leah demanded. "What is she?"

The coven mother stared at Leah, eerie delight making her amber eyes light up. "She's a sea-woman. She shouldn't be…" Esme trailed off, and Leah grunted with anger.

"Shouldn't be _what?"_ Leah urged, mind racing to try and understand. She had to protect Embry, to protect her pack against what this imprint could bring with her. On what she could destroy her pack-mates with.

"She shouldn't be kept here, on land."

It was with those words that the door finally flew open, and Carlisle, Embry, Jacob and Sam came bursting in.

* * *

To anyone reading, enjoy.

Isedy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Status:** Incomplete

**Summary: **He found her as she fell. As she stepped into the void of the abyss, and a smile flickered over her face, gray eyes beaming. And as she took the step, he lurched forward, and his hands grasped onto nothing.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Twilight.

* * *

She awoke to yelling.

Loud, piercing shouts, screams and bellows. Like the sky was falling, careening down onto her with an unprecedented velocity—screeching, violent, garbled. Her heart beat painfully loud in her chest, the muddled panic of sleep, hazy ignorance and unawareness filling her all at once, all too quickly.

It felt like she'd swallowed cotton and daggers, the dryness of her ruined throat far too biting to let words push past her tongue.

_She couldn't move, couldn't speak._

For a moment, she lay still in time, still blinded from sleep and crusted eyes, not quite moving to the next moment in her delirium. It was all muted this terrible movement and screaming, like she was still underwater, unable to hear the garbling of human affairs.

_Snarls, mixed words and a horrible effigy filled the air around her, and she remembered __**it **__and __**its**__ horrific joy at the very sight of her—_

She barely tried to breathe in her effort to _comprehend_—the desperation was thick in her lungs, her chest, an iron fist clenching around her thrumming heart— (_cover thy eyes, cover thy ears, my dearest child, else they shall come for thee…)_

Then—

Something crashed near her, an explosion of shattered noise, wailing glass and metal and the breeze of movement sailed over her, a lightning bolt in an already sea of addled alarm.

She flinched—_memories of pain flickered before her_—

A whimper broke through her rusted lips, and she tried to calm herself. To not make noises that would attract this raging attention. It had been years, decades, centuries since she'd heard such sounds. The warm of her mother's waters had muted everything, including the humans who'd roamed the broken winding lands above. It had been _millennia_ since she'd bothered to rise to the surface, to strip the pelt from her thick, heavy-set hips and listen to them; to their hopes, their affections, bewitching's and dreams and wishes.

She remembered her decade of humans like this: straggling rocks, gaping outcrops and sunlight heating slick skin. But even those memories were fuzzy, effaced quietly, soundlessly, quickly—left to blurred thoughts and feelings of a different, distant time. A time where she was younger, kind, sweeter, and infinitely more patient and eager for these kinds of ramblings—a time where she was quite a bit more _human_ than _creature._

_(She hardly remembered what it was like to smile anymore. Even the action felt wrong, like her face could not bear to form itself into an arrangement of human pleasure. She was her mother's child now, and her kind did not smile unless it was to show their sharp, bright teeth—_

_The human meanings of bared teeth and twinkling eyes had been lost to her—to time, to memory and pained things not meant to be touched.)_

But now, when she grew tired or fearful of those fluttering, bright creatures, she had no sanctuary to return to. No heat, no peaceful content understanding that her Ocean Mother was close enough to swallow her back into safety. And there was no more patience from her—only fear, terror and uncertainty.

A part of her wailed. Wailed at the thought and idea of that mortal heat taking her away from where she belonged, and she curled that part of her rage deep into herself, letting it sink into her skin, her soul, to a place where she would always remember this betrayal.

She was blind now, still, despite her struggling attempts to open her eyes. She could feel them aching against the light that rose behind her closed lids, ripping through the paper-thinness of her skin. She wasn't built for such brightness. Not anymore. Now, she was merely a creature of shadow and dark, of currents and tides that lay deep underneath the alien crust of the surface, where nary a whisper was heard by all those of the deep.

But the ringing of this surging chaos—all around her like a growing tide—was rebounding, and it hurt her sensitive ears, made her head pound like the tools of a miller grinding his autumn grain. It hurt. Hurt more than she was able to withstand. She was _weak_. Tired and vulnerable, and she could not move to take herself away from this terrifying, dizzying reality that she had entered.

She moaned in pain, the whimpers she had held back break from her throat. She prayed they would not hear—that somehow, the gods would take pity on a pained little create like herself, and by some ethereal miracle this surging cacophony of _rage_ would simmer from its boil, halt in its peak.

They were so _loud._

The ringing of her head was like those of war drums; deep and true and striking a familiar terror within her, just as they'd done so many millennia ago. She wanted it to stop—for the nausea and the pain and the agony and the fear to go away—and she missed, momentarily, that fleeting, tender warmth that those hands had brought her, along with the affection present in those strange and grating words—tenderness spiraling within stilted, broken placations.

That calm, that closeness she'd felt within that boy-man's touch had awoken something within her. A yearning. The kind of yearning she'd only ever felt for the sea. She'd never felt anything like that kind of want in her centuries of existence, not for a _human_, not with her earthen family, and never from any man, woman, person she'd ever encountered before.

She'd only ever wanted after the sea, ever since she'd been wee—the only constant thing she remembered. The sea was the only thing she'd dreamed of: lulling, thudding sounds that hooked her by the navel and pulled her closer, and closer, and closer, until she sank within her mother's depths and breathed through her waters, a creature herself.

_(She remembered the whiplash of the water, how she'd sluiced through the currents like she herself was a wave, unable to be touched, to be taken, a beast of the sea, sharp, calculating, ever so slick she was, reborn daughter of the tides of the moon—)_

But that touch. Tender, fluttering fingertips tracing bruised and burned skin. Utterings of pain, guilt, sorrow. It felt like the world had stopped spinning, even for just a moment. His warmth had grazed her cheeks, and his eyes had been so deeply entwined with hers that she'd _felt him. _She'd never felt any other human so deeply—touching her, caressing her—and she was _sure_ that their souls had met, and twined and twisted.

She felt breathless even at the thought.

It had been decades since her years of humans. Longer since she'd let play and touch and caress her. _(She hardly remembered the color of her earth-mother's eyes now, so faded and jagged in memories long lost)_. Centuries since she'd allowed them to lure her to shore with riveting melodies of lament, and decades since she'd let them twine catching fingers around her long, bouncing hair to exclaim at the softness despite the sea. She'd heard no utterances from them since she'd left the surface. No more terrible wonderful whispers of their woes, eyes bright and burning, no cries at the misery in their lives. No more tentative hands tracing the edges of her heavy body, face or mind.

_None left their mark like the sea. _

She didn't know what it was, this _closeness._ Did not know if she liked it yet. This strange, lulling softness that filled her thoughts at the reminders of his slender nose, thick arching eyebrows that dove down in horror, or the grass-green eyes that echoed in nascent tragedy. How his lips looked full, soft—a feature she'd never even noticed in a man.

_(Her times at shore were soft, sweet, tragic. Melancholic operas of churning human misery and human awe—so horribly short and quick to escape from existence. She smiled at them, and they looked at her like she was a burning star in a resplendent night sky—to be feared, to be loved, to be conquered.)_

She felt it now again—that cloying tug—and she wondered if he was close, because the pull manifested in her chest, gathered her essence with a tug, and a pull, wrenching at her…

_(They were strange those humans…and though she held memories of her own time as one, she didn't remember what it was like to have that looming mortality settle deep within, to erase possibilities of length and depth of life.)_

She didn't know if she was to like the way this feeling, this boy-child-man pulled at her. How she felt him writhing, bubbling in agony, within the casings of her heart, like a slow, eternal tide, swirling and swirling and swirling, reminding her of all the things he could bring with merely his touch.

She whimpered again, louder, much louder, at the uncertainty of these feelings, the pain of her head, the terror stuck deep in her chest—something deep inside her mind slithered, shaking itself off, something that felt a lot like instinct—

Her eyes rocketed open at the touch.

_Cold, dead, slithering hands clutching at her hair, her skin, her thighs…eyes so red they were like coral reefs, teeth like those of sharks, ever sharp and catching—_

The sun burned her tender lids, blurring her vision with water, eyes turning quiver-pink; for half a moment she saw the green she'd dreamed of—but all she could focus on was the _cold_—

_It had found her. _

The horror loosened in her throat, her fear pulsing violently through her veins, and the scream that escaped her made the hair on her arms stand to point.

…

One moment she was whimpering, brows furrowing in pain, and the next her eyes shot open and a terrible, piercing scream echoed within Carlisle's recovery room.

Deep, unadulterated horror sung through her features, and her bloodless mouth was left open in its horror, a caricature of terror.

Looming, eyes dangerously bright in their blackness, Esme's porcelain hand clutching at her bruised, slender jaw.

In the chaos of it all—Embry's entrance at the moment of the thud against the wall, alarm skittering through his nerves—Leah's grip had slipped on the coven mother, and the _thing_ had dashed towards the woman laying on the table to grasp of her what she could.

Bright, fangs blinked in the sunlight. Esme's grin was manic, eyes burning. "_So pretty—"_

And a red fog fell over Embry's vision.

_Crazed. _That's what he was—for her _lunged_ for Esme—a guttural snarling rage filling the room, the echoes of madness clear. It was almost like he'd left his body. His outstretched nails—ragged and vicious from the effects of a transformation—tore down the coven mother's arms, and he felt a sadistic kind of satisfaction at the crumbling of her skin, faux-body loosening into a million shattered diamonds glinting in the sun.

Esme screamed, staggering back—she looked like most inhuman he ever remembered, half broken body scattered on the floor, eyes gleaming red, insanity gleaming within those depths—he did not _care. She had touched what was his. _

His own canines' bit through his lip, the tang of his own blood sharpening his lust for the creature's.

_She had touched her. His mate. _

_Embry was going to kill her._

He had never felt anything like this—the horrific pounding of burning wrath in his chest, like the poison of a rattlesnake, rotting away at his sanity. _Hurt. Hurt. She was hurt. _That was all that mattered. He would kill that disgusting creature—the one who would take his _one_ away from him, for the very taste of her blood—

_The madness roiled within him and he readied himself, jaw loosening as the wolf came out, amber gleam in his eyes intensifying, oh how he would __**relish**__ in this one's death, how he would __**enjoy it**__—_

"EMBRY—!"

He howled, enraged, when he felt a crushing grip reach around his shoulders. Thick, heavy bones snapped, tendons wrenched, muscles straining as he _fought_ against the grip with every single inch of life he had left. He felt his body weave back together again and again as he wrenched against this burning hold, healing him enough to try ad infinitum.

"My _mate_," the wolf within him gnashed its teeth together and Embry felt the blur of double consciousness take over him as age-old instinct and _knowing_ slammed into him _protect herprotectprotect_, "MINE—"

The alpha's command hit him like a sledgehammer.

"_Stand. Down."_

Disorientation slid through him, the wolf still urging for blood, and the human desperate to go to his _one_.

He stilled for a moment. Struggled to blink through the hot rage that beat within his chest.

The sound of a horrible whine filled the air. Esme was clutching the wall, arm mangled beyond belief—that high-pitched, animalistic noise slipping through trembling, curled lips. Her fangs had sharpened at the pain, and Embry wanted to rip them out of her mouth just to hear her scream. Carlisle was tense, unmoving next to his Alpha—but Embry could see the desire to go to his wife (_his wife, that creature was that one's wife, _the wolf snarled, disgusted).

He loomed over the vampire, nails still outstretched, glinting with the brightness of the fake skin he'd torn into. He panted, canines bloody and sharp, glinting.

"Embry," His alpha began—that was his _name_, he tried to remember, _Embry_— "Go to your mate."

Sam—the names were beginning to come back now—let him go slowly. Embry stood still for moment, only breathing, blinking, chest heaving.

Then he turned slowly, eyes still tracked onto the creature at the wall—_do not let it out of your sight, _the wolf ordered—moving cautiously towards his mate.

His pack-sister held the woman to her chest, her own amber eyes vicious and waiting, a terrible little grin settling around her mouth. Leah's glinting canines looked fiercely protective in the warm afternoon sun, and Embry felt the warmth of _pack_ and _sister_ course through his veins.

And finally, finally, when Embry looked to his mate, he found her looking right back: strange, beautiful eyes blinking into his own, a desperate hope running through him.

No-one moved as he turned away from Esme, entrusting his vigil of the vampire to Sam despite his wolf's violent protests. His footsteps were soundless as he edged towards his mate. When he reached her, he found he could hardly breathe. Leah's brown arms around his mate only made her look more bloodless, closer to death.

(So _white._ He'd never found that whiteness pretty before. It still looked strange to him now. But it didn't matter, not anymore—she was his _one._ His _mate._)

He inched carefully towards her. She watched the movement with those gray eyes of hers, and Embry saw her shaking. When he skimmed her hands—tangled into the paper-sheets of the bed—fingertips barely brushing her skin.

Embry would wait. He would wait for her acceptance. He would not touch her—not anymore than she wanted. But he was _weak_ at the sight of this strange little woman, with gray eyes and fine, bloodied white-gold hair, and he could not halt the movement of his fingers against her own.

It was a little eternity as she stared him down, eyes searching his own.

Then, slowly, she left Leah's arms. Despite moving so slowly, he found he could scarcely believe his eyes as her touch strengthened against his own and inched against him. She settled into his arms slowly; first with her hands, tangling with his fingers, then with her body, leaning against him haltingly, then all at once as she pressed her breasts against his chest, her stomach against his pelvis. Her eyes did not leave his, still roving between them, searching, searching, searching.

Embry hoped she found what she was looking for.

And then, when she let her head fall against the nook of his shoulder, he dared to breathe. Shuddering, his own arms came swiftly to grasp her to him. Her coldness was surprising, but he put it out of mind as he swept her closer, pressing his nose to her bloodied hair, breathing in the smell of sea, sweat and nascent trust.

_His. _

He would not let her go again.

…

_(As he breathed her in, let her smell fall into his memory, his pack moved behind him. Leah yipped at Sam in warning as the Alpha turned his gaze towards the two vampires who were now wrapped in each other's arms. _

"_She knows something about Embry's mate."_

_Sam eyes darkened like thunderstorms, mouth curling into distrust.)_

…

They settled in the living room, his One still wrapped around him tightly. Her eyes were fluttering with tiredness now, and Embry had to be cajoled and prodded by Sam into paying attention to the conversation going on around him instead of the woman who lay between his arms.

He clutched at her again, to be sure that she was there, that she was not fading.

All he could remember was how she'd leaped. It was like a terrible nightmare, all rolled into one, everlasting moment. The sun had flickered over her hair, and it looked like the silvery trail of stars in the midnight sky as it billowed behind her; a maddening beauty lent to her death.

She had been so terrifyingly calm as she fell. So utterly content when he'd scrambled after her, lurching over that dizzying cliff, his naked skin soaking in the salt of the ocean currents, his fear chiseling away at the rationality inside his mind.

Her eyes had been so wide, and big, staring up at him like she could barely understand why he kneeled before her, trapping her to the rock, although he knew her legs, her spine, her neck was shattered. Even as he'd raced towards the doctor, he'd known…

He shuddered again, tears clumping in his throat, and the precious woman he held nuzzled further into his grip, nosing her face into his chest.

If she died, he wouldn't know anything about her. He never would. Wouldn't know her favorite color, the sound of her laugh on summer evenings, if red wine would her eyes glimmer and take on a hazy sheen of joy on cold winter evenings. The heat of her skin, though close now, remained still unknown by him, the smell of her carrying his scent would not ever be realized.

A dawning realization settled over him—he would go mad if she died.

Embry knew it like he knew the winding roads and forested paths of La Push. Knew it like the back of his own hand, like the thoughts of his wolf racing through his head. He'd go mad, mad, mad like the hatter in the stories that his mother read to him when he was little, mad like a crazed king, drunk on heartbreak and grief, unable to break from the spell of a dead wife.

Her breaths were catching, and he could hear her heart encased in her thin chest, slowing, slowing, _slow_—

She was warm. Alive. He would keep her so.

He remembered his failure with dread. The way her shoulder slid from his hand was like a burn against his fingers, staining him with his sin, forever marked in his crime.

Even now, the sobs were rising like a tide in his throat. They filled his lungs, weighed his shoulders, and climbed across his face like a vengeful secret. He could barely concentrate on Sam and Leah's quick-witted words and snarling growls as his shame, his fear and agony spread like cold, slow-burning fire to every inch of his soul, permeating him with the stench of horrified grief.

Would she die, his mate? Die a horrific death—in a body wrecked by the waves and the leap of a cliff?

Fresh panic bloomed inside of him like a thrumming hurricane, and he felt it press down on him, threatening to paralyze him like a sitting duck—unable to turn the tide of his beloved.

So lost in his panic, his thoughts, he only caught the tail of what Esme was saying—

"—She doesn't belong here," the vampire was rasping, a kind of delight still gleaming in the redness of her inhuman eyes, "No, she's a creature of water, not earth, and she needs to go back from whence she came—"

_MINE, _his wolf exploded in his thoughts—

Embry growled.

Every head swiveled towards his snarling visage.

The treasure bound to his chest stilled before melting back into him.

"You are not taking her from me."

Esme merely smiled. "I won't have to."

His teeth felt heavy in his mouth, and for a second, he thought of what it would be like to tear out her throat.

"She's my mate. I am not leaving her." He gritted out the words, feral wrath lining his tone.

Here, Sam intervened before Esme could answer again. "What do you mean…creature of water?"

Suspicion glimmered in his Alpha's eyes, and all pleasantries of the past seemed to have fled from his demeanor as Carlisle shifted uneasily, eyes flickering to the sight of Esme beaming with crazed joy.

"She's _n__ä__kki._" The thing said simply, as if that explained everything.

Something clawed inside Embry's chest at that word—something inexplicable—and he moved his eyes back down to his one, taking in the softness of her hair, the warm smell of her skin against his.

He didn't care what she was—only that she stayed. She had to _stay_ with him.

He would not know what to do if she left. If she recoiled from his touch, fled from his want of her.

The hours he'd sat by her in an attempt to cleanse himself of his sins, had not been enough. He'd been riveted on her chest, rising and falling, eternally lagging, and it was like a sick, twisted punishment as he took in her struggle. He watched, shameful, troubled. Took her within his arms to stop the tremors of his wolf from searing through his human skin. Smelled the sickness inside of her, rotten, sweet and oozing. He nosed her chin, her cheeks, her brow. Tasted the salt of her sweat and traced his fingers over the sallowness of her skin, the rising arches of her face. When she cried out—for him, he yearned to trick himself into thinking—he was there, hushing her, desperate in his attempts to console her.

"Nakki?" The word sounded like a garbled hiss in Leah's mouth, although as sharp as blade. Her dark eyes furrowed with muddied comprehension. "Explain."

When Esme did not move to answer, Sam shifted imperiously. Eyes darkened and mouth twisted into a dangerous expression.

"You will explain, _now."_ The heaviness of the Alpha's tone was final.

(Explain or _die._ Embry willed himself to not look too eager.)

And then Esme, Esme who Embry once thought to be kind, and comforting and all-too-tragically a vampire, grinned with a madness that dripped from her very soul, and the rage inside Embry, tempered and simpering at the touch of his one, came to a boiling point.

"Her kind have been hunted for centuries. They're the ones who swim beneath the surface of the waves. Humans who've turned creatures of shadow and tide, who've loved the ocean enough in their mortal years to be accepted within the waves at their death. There are many names—näkki, huldra, sirens, selkies—for what she is."

That terrible grin warped; obsession framed her lips, fangs glinting sharply.

"And she, that not-woman, will never be safe from me, _us_—not until she sinks beneath those waves again."

* * *

It's been a while.

Enjoy!


End file.
